It really is amazing. Somewhere out there, maybe on this continent,
maybe halfway 'round the world, somebody is reading this. Somebody
is laughing, somebody is crying, somebody is examining my work with
the scrutinizing eye of a critical editor.
And I'll never meet one of them.
...
Well, enough of that. Thanks for all the reviews; I really, really will try hard not to disappoint y'all.
CHAPTER FOUR - - - - - - - - - -
[Kai's POV]
'Here I sit on cold hard chair
Boring drone and stagnant air
Door so close yet far away
And here I am, forced to stay
Scribbled white mars perfect black
Theories, laws, accepted facts
Tedious lines of numbers, words
Equations done and lectures heard
No rest from work, to time for play
Essays, assignments every day
And here I sit and wonder why
I even bother to try'
These are the words I have just finished inscribing in my notebook. Jagged, crisscrossing borders run 'round the verse, fading in intensity towards the edges of the sheet. Slowly, methodically, I turn the page.
The teacher, Mr. Idakenchi I believe his name is, is still blathering about hyperboles. The fool. Doesn't he realize that there is virtually nobody listening to him? Or maybe he just doesn't care.
Whatever the reason, he seems about ready to continue his monologue long into the night. Thank God (or Ra. Or maybe Zeus? I don't care much for religion) for dismissal bells. And, oh, look, what a coincidence: there goes one now.
I gather my pencils, my books, and shove them into my bag, though I take care not to damage any of the paper the spiral binding holds together. This particular pad of dead tree stuff has been with me since my parents died two, three months ago? Or was it four?
That sounded so pathetic. I can't even remember the day that my life changed forever.
And that sounded laughably theatrical.
I watch in a rather bored fashion as my fellow sufferers of academic life push and shove for the right to be the first out of the door and into the hall, so as to whoop and cheer and generally be elated that Tuesday is finally over. And, if I didn't hold such disdain for acts of that level of immaturity and idiocy, I would probably be joining them.
But I have a modicum of dignity, so I wait until the last of the aggravatingly loud peons clear the classroom, dead set on escaping the school before Mr. Yagami can find me and remind me of my 'promise' to tryout for the soccer team. Alas, whatever deities are up there do not smile upon me today, and I find myself being stared at and whispered about as I try to move unnoticed (unsuccessfully) through the corridors.
Up until now, I've been able to keep a low profile: sitting in the far back, eating outside (admittedly, there was that guy who found me, although it was purely unintentional and we will probably never meet again*), not raising my hand to answer inane questions...
But it appears that the students of Bakuten High have abruptly snapped out of the comatose, zombie-like state that the first period bell seems to hypnotize them into, and they are now all too aware of the war-paint adorned, black-clad pale kid in their midst.
Bugger.
"Hey, is that a new guy?" Clever of you to notice.
"What's his name?" You didn't even know I existed up until three minutes ago. How on earth would anybody know my name?
"He's totally hot." Wonderful. There goes my left eye, twitching again.
And so on and so forth, the throbbing vein in my temple worsening steadily. I'm all but running down the hallway now, but the murmurs and whispers are like wildfire and by the time I've reached my locker, four guys are approaching me.
They better not be about to hit on me, that's all I'm saying.
The tall one at the front of the group is eying me curiously. He is obviously the leader of the little ensemble; his stature of over- confidence gives him away. His hooked nose and crest-shaped purple hair are oddly reminiscent of a bird's. ...Alright, I just had the worst mental picture of the guy waddling around like a penguin. Stop it, brain. I said stop. STOP DAMNIT.
...
Moving on, while Bird-Man looked to be a year or so above me, the kid on his right is about my age. Dusky red hair is arranged in the pattern of a flame. He's glaring at me, obviously suspicious, though of what I haven't the slightest idea. But I glare back anyway. It is, after all, proper etiquette.
Flame-Head sees this and turns to make what I assume is a snide comment (I do not possess Superman's hearing) to the rather girlish boy behind him. At least, I think it's a boy. I hope it's a boy, seeing as I recognize him from the male change room before Phys. Ed. I distinctly recall regarding him and thinking, 'Wuss.' The same applies now.
The poor child is positively withering under my gaze, and I'm not even glowering yet.
Last and probably least is the tall blonde that I unhesitatingly place in the 'would be a player if had reasonable attention span' bin. That much is obvious from the sly, flirtatious glances he's sending at everything that moves. I swear, he just winked at the trolley the custodian is trying to maneuver around the students.
Well, I'm officially bored.
I regard the gathered four coolly, and my eyes widen unintentionally when I realize that there are more than triple, no quadruple that number surrounding me. Not good. Definitely not good. Oh, and there goeth the voices once more.
"D'you think that hair is natural?" Must. Not. Kill.
"About as natural as his eyes. Never seen nobody with crimson eyes." Double negatives, anyone?
"He is sooo hot!" I'm practically cringing away from the high- pitched squeal. I pity any dogs within a five-mile radius.
"Hey, kid, who the freck are you?" One, I refuse to be addressed as 'kid'. Two, why couldn't you have simply asked that in the first place, rather than goggling at me as if *I* were the one who resembled a pile of sludge? Three, I do not deem you worthy enough to be acknowledged.
I am so grateful right now for my self-control. Had I actually voiced my inner thoughts, I would think myself to be in a thug-and- angry-mob induced coma. Nevertheless, I really, really do not wish to speak to these people. So I do what any sane, self-preserving individual such as myself would.
I turn around and open my locker. I realize that that was probably not the most ingenious of my plans when a huge, meaty hand descends on my shoulder. I fight the urge to bite it. It looks unsanitary.
"I asked you a question, jackass." I'm not deaf, you worthless, syncophantic toad.
...Okay, why is everybody staring at me?
Oh. Shite. I think I actually spoke those last words out loud. My brain and my mouth have mutinied.
I turn slowly and find myself staring into two, dull, but very, very angry mud-brown eyes. Funny, I would have thought him incapable of understanding the word 'worthless', much less 'syncophantic'.
...Did I just say that out loud? 'Yes,' my treacherous brain tells me gleefully. 'Yes, you did.'
Damn you to Hell and back. Sadly, there is nothing I can do to salvage the situation, and as those idiotic dirt coloured irises narrow even further, I wonder for the second time today if somebody in the clouds is finding this hilarious.
At least I didn't voice that thought.
"What'd you say, you little bastard?!"
Deep breaths, Kai, deep breaths. Grandfather would not be pleased to hear of his charge's killing of another student. On the other hand, if he lands the first blow, I can honestly say it was in self- defense.
"Are you so incompetent that you cannot understand what I'm saying?"
I have signed my death warrant. Again. Is that possible? Oh, well, back to the business at hand.
Speaking of hands, there seems to be a rather large fisted one heading towards my face. I'd better duck.
The stooge's knuckles graze the very tips of my bangs, and I take the opportunity to ram my own elbow into his exposed stomach. There's a funny sort of 'Oof!' as the guy's breath is driven forcefully out of his diaphragm, and a 'thud' as he falls to the ground, winded.
...
That was unexpectedly easy. Getting out of the corridors with all limbs and articles of clothing attached is another story.
There would be appear to be some sort of animosity between the senior student lying on the floor and his classmates, because the latter immediately descend upon me in much the way fan-girls mob an actor: very scarily.
Most of the squabblers attempting to gain my attention are indeed female, but I note a few males as well. It doesn't bother me that they're of my own gender (I've long since come to terms with my bisexuality, and I really couldn't care less). What does is that they're all but clinging to my legs.
Muttering random, probably incoherent excuses under my breath, I shove a couple books into my locker, withdraw some more, slam the metal door shut, and shove my way through the crowd. Only to slam into one Mr. Yagami. Who is smiling (I'm actually half-expecting his cheeks to crack).
Then, I remember: Soccer. Tryouts. Now. Yagami = coach. I = dead.
- - - - - - - - - -
To be Continued.
Right. I lied. The tryouts are, in fact, next chapter. Or summatch. Sorry...?
Anyhoo, this be the last chapter until Saturday or Sunday. Check my profile page for details.
Until then, see you on the other side.
* think again, Kai!
And I'll never meet one of them.
...
Well, enough of that. Thanks for all the reviews; I really, really will try hard not to disappoint y'all.
CHAPTER FOUR - - - - - - - - - -
[Kai's POV]
'Here I sit on cold hard chair
Boring drone and stagnant air
Door so close yet far away
And here I am, forced to stay
Scribbled white mars perfect black
Theories, laws, accepted facts
Tedious lines of numbers, words
Equations done and lectures heard
No rest from work, to time for play
Essays, assignments every day
And here I sit and wonder why
I even bother to try'
These are the words I have just finished inscribing in my notebook. Jagged, crisscrossing borders run 'round the verse, fading in intensity towards the edges of the sheet. Slowly, methodically, I turn the page.
The teacher, Mr. Idakenchi I believe his name is, is still blathering about hyperboles. The fool. Doesn't he realize that there is virtually nobody listening to him? Or maybe he just doesn't care.
Whatever the reason, he seems about ready to continue his monologue long into the night. Thank God (or Ra. Or maybe Zeus? I don't care much for religion) for dismissal bells. And, oh, look, what a coincidence: there goes one now.
I gather my pencils, my books, and shove them into my bag, though I take care not to damage any of the paper the spiral binding holds together. This particular pad of dead tree stuff has been with me since my parents died two, three months ago? Or was it four?
That sounded so pathetic. I can't even remember the day that my life changed forever.
And that sounded laughably theatrical.
I watch in a rather bored fashion as my fellow sufferers of academic life push and shove for the right to be the first out of the door and into the hall, so as to whoop and cheer and generally be elated that Tuesday is finally over. And, if I didn't hold such disdain for acts of that level of immaturity and idiocy, I would probably be joining them.
But I have a modicum of dignity, so I wait until the last of the aggravatingly loud peons clear the classroom, dead set on escaping the school before Mr. Yagami can find me and remind me of my 'promise' to tryout for the soccer team. Alas, whatever deities are up there do not smile upon me today, and I find myself being stared at and whispered about as I try to move unnoticed (unsuccessfully) through the corridors.
Up until now, I've been able to keep a low profile: sitting in the far back, eating outside (admittedly, there was that guy who found me, although it was purely unintentional and we will probably never meet again*), not raising my hand to answer inane questions...
But it appears that the students of Bakuten High have abruptly snapped out of the comatose, zombie-like state that the first period bell seems to hypnotize them into, and they are now all too aware of the war-paint adorned, black-clad pale kid in their midst.
Bugger.
"Hey, is that a new guy?" Clever of you to notice.
"What's his name?" You didn't even know I existed up until three minutes ago. How on earth would anybody know my name?
"He's totally hot." Wonderful. There goes my left eye, twitching again.
And so on and so forth, the throbbing vein in my temple worsening steadily. I'm all but running down the hallway now, but the murmurs and whispers are like wildfire and by the time I've reached my locker, four guys are approaching me.
They better not be about to hit on me, that's all I'm saying.
The tall one at the front of the group is eying me curiously. He is obviously the leader of the little ensemble; his stature of over- confidence gives him away. His hooked nose and crest-shaped purple hair are oddly reminiscent of a bird's. ...Alright, I just had the worst mental picture of the guy waddling around like a penguin. Stop it, brain. I said stop. STOP DAMNIT.
...
Moving on, while Bird-Man looked to be a year or so above me, the kid on his right is about my age. Dusky red hair is arranged in the pattern of a flame. He's glaring at me, obviously suspicious, though of what I haven't the slightest idea. But I glare back anyway. It is, after all, proper etiquette.
Flame-Head sees this and turns to make what I assume is a snide comment (I do not possess Superman's hearing) to the rather girlish boy behind him. At least, I think it's a boy. I hope it's a boy, seeing as I recognize him from the male change room before Phys. Ed. I distinctly recall regarding him and thinking, 'Wuss.' The same applies now.
The poor child is positively withering under my gaze, and I'm not even glowering yet.
Last and probably least is the tall blonde that I unhesitatingly place in the 'would be a player if had reasonable attention span' bin. That much is obvious from the sly, flirtatious glances he's sending at everything that moves. I swear, he just winked at the trolley the custodian is trying to maneuver around the students.
Well, I'm officially bored.
I regard the gathered four coolly, and my eyes widen unintentionally when I realize that there are more than triple, no quadruple that number surrounding me. Not good. Definitely not good. Oh, and there goeth the voices once more.
"D'you think that hair is natural?" Must. Not. Kill.
"About as natural as his eyes. Never seen nobody with crimson eyes." Double negatives, anyone?
"He is sooo hot!" I'm practically cringing away from the high- pitched squeal. I pity any dogs within a five-mile radius.
"Hey, kid, who the freck are you?" One, I refuse to be addressed as 'kid'. Two, why couldn't you have simply asked that in the first place, rather than goggling at me as if *I* were the one who resembled a pile of sludge? Three, I do not deem you worthy enough to be acknowledged.
I am so grateful right now for my self-control. Had I actually voiced my inner thoughts, I would think myself to be in a thug-and- angry-mob induced coma. Nevertheless, I really, really do not wish to speak to these people. So I do what any sane, self-preserving individual such as myself would.
I turn around and open my locker. I realize that that was probably not the most ingenious of my plans when a huge, meaty hand descends on my shoulder. I fight the urge to bite it. It looks unsanitary.
"I asked you a question, jackass." I'm not deaf, you worthless, syncophantic toad.
...Okay, why is everybody staring at me?
Oh. Shite. I think I actually spoke those last words out loud. My brain and my mouth have mutinied.
I turn slowly and find myself staring into two, dull, but very, very angry mud-brown eyes. Funny, I would have thought him incapable of understanding the word 'worthless', much less 'syncophantic'.
...Did I just say that out loud? 'Yes,' my treacherous brain tells me gleefully. 'Yes, you did.'
Damn you to Hell and back. Sadly, there is nothing I can do to salvage the situation, and as those idiotic dirt coloured irises narrow even further, I wonder for the second time today if somebody in the clouds is finding this hilarious.
At least I didn't voice that thought.
"What'd you say, you little bastard?!"
Deep breaths, Kai, deep breaths. Grandfather would not be pleased to hear of his charge's killing of another student. On the other hand, if he lands the first blow, I can honestly say it was in self- defense.
"Are you so incompetent that you cannot understand what I'm saying?"
I have signed my death warrant. Again. Is that possible? Oh, well, back to the business at hand.
Speaking of hands, there seems to be a rather large fisted one heading towards my face. I'd better duck.
The stooge's knuckles graze the very tips of my bangs, and I take the opportunity to ram my own elbow into his exposed stomach. There's a funny sort of 'Oof!' as the guy's breath is driven forcefully out of his diaphragm, and a 'thud' as he falls to the ground, winded.
...
That was unexpectedly easy. Getting out of the corridors with all limbs and articles of clothing attached is another story.
There would be appear to be some sort of animosity between the senior student lying on the floor and his classmates, because the latter immediately descend upon me in much the way fan-girls mob an actor: very scarily.
Most of the squabblers attempting to gain my attention are indeed female, but I note a few males as well. It doesn't bother me that they're of my own gender (I've long since come to terms with my bisexuality, and I really couldn't care less). What does is that they're all but clinging to my legs.
Muttering random, probably incoherent excuses under my breath, I shove a couple books into my locker, withdraw some more, slam the metal door shut, and shove my way through the crowd. Only to slam into one Mr. Yagami. Who is smiling (I'm actually half-expecting his cheeks to crack).
Then, I remember: Soccer. Tryouts. Now. Yagami = coach. I = dead.
- - - - - - - - - -
To be Continued.
Right. I lied. The tryouts are, in fact, next chapter. Or summatch. Sorry...?
Anyhoo, this be the last chapter until Saturday or Sunday. Check my profile page for details.
Until then, see you on the other side.
* think again, Kai!
